


Eris's Bridegroom: 005 Outsides

by abundantlyqueer



Series: Eris's Bridegroom [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-28
Updated: 2011-03-28
Packaged: 2017-10-17 08:35:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/174925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abundantlyqueer/pseuds/abundantlyqueer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>”You aren’t haunted by the war. You miss it.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Eris's Bridegroom: 005 Outsides

**Author's Note:**

> The ‘100 prompts’ thingie, done to the tune of John’s experiences in Afghanistan.
> 
> Buyer beware, the sum total of this is going to be bare-faced glamorization of war and the (mostly) men who have loved her.
> 
>  **Additional note for _005 Outsides_** : Sherlock flung himself around until I agreed to let him be in **one** prompt per table line. ONE, Sherlock.

Here’s what Sherlock knows.

In front, John’s left shoulder and the top of his chest are a butcher’s mess of scar tissue: a central area averaging six centimeters across, right in the hollow where shoulder becomes chest, surrounded by half a dozen thick radiating lines between six and ten centimeters long. Another dozen shorter lines and wedges of scar scatter inwards towards his breastbone, and down onto his ribs. At the back, there’s only a neat circle of scar near the top of John’s shoulder blade.

“Large caliber, close range,” Sherlock says contentedly. “Seven point six millimeter, judging by the size of the hole … but you were only hit once, so semi-automatic. I’ll assume an AK forty-seven; they’re as common as rats.”

“I don’t think I saw that many rats,” John says.

“Went in at the back, came out at the front … went in cleanly, came out very messily. Maximum cavitation for that round is forty centimeters from point of penetration, but the penetration path is only about … twenty eight centimeters. You were wearing plate body armor; it couldn’t stop a round that big, that close … it just slowed it down, made it yaw and fragment that much sooner. The bullet wouldn’t have had enough velocity left to come out the front of the armor.”

“Absolutely correct,” John says crisply. “Now tell me what I had for breakfast that day.”

“The penetration path’s angled down slightly. The shooter was higher than you, but not by much. The recoil of an AK forty-seven’s an evil thing; he’d want both feet on the ground so you must have been lower … crouching, kneeling.”

“That’s right,” John says, getting up and moving away. “I was on my knees and I got shot in the back … not very glorious.”

John has a tattoo at the very top of his left arm: a snake and rod surrounded by a crowned wreath. The colors are blurred, bleeding past the black outlines: years old, and done cheaply. The text underneath, however, is crisp and fresh.

“No honours but honour,” Sherlock reads aloud.

“Um? Oh, yes,” John says.

“That’s not the motto,” Sherlock says. “The design is the badge of the RAMC, but the motto is supposed to be _faithful in adversity_. Why doesn’t it say that?”

“I – uh – it always seemed a bit of a tautology, to be honest – like having it say _has medical training_.”

Sherlock smiles in genuine amusement.

“So … _no honours but honour_?”

“It’s sort of an unofficial motto … the medical corps is never granted battle honors.”

“Because they’re not in battles.”

“Because they’re in _every_ battle.”

Sherlock bends his head in unforced acknowledgment of his mistake.

“I blame your taste in novels,” he says lightly. “Less imperial propaganda as a boy and you would have saved yourself adding the text.”

“Wha – what?”

“That cloth-bound copy of The Four Feathers you have would be worth something if you hadn’t read it to death years ago,” Sherlock says, and then more gently, “no one seriously thinks a back wound is the sign of a coward … no one under the age of two hundred, at least.”

John purses his lips slightly, as if trying out the taste of that.

“You don’t think it’s a reasonable requirement for a soldier? To turn and face the enemy under fire?”

“You _were_ facing the enemy … you’re a doctor, too, remember?” Sherlock says.


End file.
